


Haunted by the Ghost of

by paperrings (Vermilion_Blues)



Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Dreamwastaken, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda?, Mild Hurt/Comfort, bad childhood, bad is just trying his best, could be read as shippy if you really wanted to, honestly this is such a vent, kinda crappy parents, responding to trauma, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermilion_Blues/pseuds/paperrings
Summary: "Bad, why are you always so nice?"____Bad didn't have the best childhood.He remembers when asked about why he does what he does.He remembers that his past did not make him kind.He remembers that his past made him scared, anxious, and shy.He remembers that he made himself kind.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 235





	Haunted by the Ghost of

**Author's Note:**

> i really did write 5 pages of vent fanfic  
> as i said in the tags i see skeppy as the one asking all the questions but it could really be anyone you want it to be, he;s just the one that kept coming to mind for me  
> if you want to read it as shippy you can, that wasn't the intention but i don't mind, i'm always down for some shipping lol  
> i havent written fanfic in so long oh my god  
> anyways. here simps. bad deserves more than anything this world can give him. he gives me such strong big brother instincts. i just wanna hug, but not for him, for me.

_“You’re so inclusive, Bad. You cheer anyone on, no matter who they are.”_

_There was a pause, a lull in the conversation that was about to go on for just a moment too long-_

_Bad’s laugh rang through TeamSpeak, loud and happy._

_“Why wouldn’t I be?”_

——

He remembers when he was younger.

He remembers his first day of school, walking in, anxious but excited like many other kids.

He remembers getting brought to his classroom by his mother. He remembers staring at the bright room, much more colorful than his home, and he remembers smiling.

He remembers walking over to a group of girls in the corner, coloring.

“Hi!” He exclaimed, all the innocence that a five year old can have clear in his face.

The girls looked at him, then at each other, before returning to their papers. They didn’t respond.

Bad paused, confused by their silence, but sat down, saying, “Can I color too?”

Their heads snapped back up towards him. “But… You’re a boy.” One girl asked, yellow pigtails shaking as she shook her head. “Boys can’t play with us.” 

Bad frowned. 

“Oh.” He paused, “But none of the boys are coloring.”

The blonde girl’s eyes scrunched up in confusion. 

“Because boys don’t color! Only girls do!” The other girls around her looked as confused as she did. “You have to go hang out with the boys!”

Bad was confused. He had never heard of anything like this, of boys not being able to color. Still, confused and upset, he left the girls alone to play with the boys. 

——

_“Bad!”_

_“What?!”_

_“Stop cheering for Dream! He’s on the other team!”_

_A pause for a moment too long. A softer voice._

_“But he’s doing so good, and he should know…”_

——

Like with the girls, there was a strange set of rules that he had never heard of before within the boy groups. He played along with them, running in Red Rover and learning how to shoot a basketball, but he never fully felt as if he fit in. Word of his apparent misstep from his first day had spread, and both girls and boy would giggle over their shoulders at him. 

As he continued through the school with these same kids though, he felt like he had finally left his first day fiasco behind him. He had continued to stay away from the girls unless teasing them with the other boys, and continued to play games like tag and Chicken with the other boys. 

Everything was going well in school, until the middle of his first grade year. In PE, his class was playing a game called Flag Tag. Everyone was split into two groups, and had either red or yellow ropes loosely tied around their waist. The goal was to grab as many ropes from the waists of the other team as possible, until there was only one team left. 

This seemed like a perfect game for a group of rowdy first graders, and they were all as excited as they could be. Bad was placed on the yellow team, and once the game finally started, he took off and started snatching ropes from red team members quickly. 

The boys generally went after the boys, while the girls went after the other girls, the strange rules still in place. At one point, Bad ripped off the rope of one of his good friends, who scowled at him before going to the ‘out’ area of the gym. Bad paused, confused on why his friend was upset, since he was just playing a game, but he brushed it off and kept playing. The game continued to shrink until it was two red players and three yellow players, staring at each other from across the room. Bad heard his friends on the yellow team cheering for him and his other players, but when he looked at his friends on the red side, he noticed that they were glaring at him. Something in his heart stuttered in pain at the look, and he misplaced a step and stumbled. Why were they angry? 

This moment of hesitation as he stopped to look at his friends caused a red player to sneak from behind him and grab his rope, getting him out of the game. He smiled at the other player and walked to the side of the gym.

The yellow team had ended up winning the game, and as the class left the gym to continue with school, Bad caught up with some friends on the opposite team. 

“Hi!” He said, smiling.

The red members were clearly upset at his team for winning, but his friend who he had beaten specifically was angry at him. They gave him the silent treatment, walking away, while a couple other friends caught up to him and pulled him into a conversation.

——

_“I think it’s cute how you always respond when someone says “I love you,” even when you’re upset with them.”_

_A beat, a breath, a pause, a moment that went on much longer than comfortable._

_“People need to know that they’re loved back.”_

——

He didn’t have a bad home life. His parents were normal, both working jobs that paid the bills, and they sent him to a good public school everyday with his own lunch and a full stomach. 

His father traveled regularly for work, which meant he was rarely home. His mother, although home much more often, was almost obsessed with her work, constantly going back to it and letting Bad care for himself as he got older. 

Bad never saw any issues with this, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t occasionally lonely. His mom would take time to be with him often though, mostly over a dinner that she created as he spoke about his day, but almost immediately after she would dive back into work again. One night, it was getting late, and Bad walked into his parent’s room to ask his mom to tuck him in.

His mom was sitting at her desk, scribbling hard on a piece of paper, and she didn’t even glance when he came in.

“Mom?” He asked, shyly. She responded with a hum.

“Can you tuck me into bed?”

The scribbling didn’t stop, and her eyes didn’t move as she said, “Aren’t you old enough to do that by yourself now?”

Bad’s foot shuffled on the floor, and he looked back at her, knowing not to argue when she’s like this. 

“Can you give me a kiss goodnight?”

This finally stopped her from her scribbling, and she looked up at him and beckoned to come closer. He scrambled close, and she planted a single kiss on his head with exaggerated noise, before turning back to her scribbling. Bad just looked at her, and he knew that she was in her work head again. 

“Okay…” He said, walking back to the door, “Goodnight. I love you.”

There was silence until he got outside the room, the scribbling still going.

“Bad?”

He turned, “Yes?”

“Close the door, please?”

——

_“Bad- you never even joke about being mean.”_

_The moment stretched on again- a lull, a breath. A quiet voice that could have easily gone unheard._

_“Jokes can hurt just as much as insults.”_

——

Things were okay until middle school.

The kids around him were finally starting to develop into their own personalities, more than they had as elementary schoolers. The kids began to branch off into cliques with defined labels, such as “the athletes” or “the band kids” or “the drama kids.” Being placed within one of these groups was beyond control, and getting out was even farther. Bad and his elementary school friends began to drift apart from each other as they met new people, and Bad slowly found a group that he fit into.

Unfortunately, the group he had managed to slot himself into wasn’t the mainstream popular group of boys, and he felt the effects. 

Groups of boys and girls had begun to blend together more now, as the kids began to explore the strange concept of dating and romance. The popular girls and boys hung together, increasing their popularity and influence, until the barrier between Popular and Not was strong. Bad was on the Not side, and unfortunately, was an easy target.

They called him names. Femboy. Wimp. Crybaby. They called him a girl and laughed while asking if he wanted to play with dolls. They laughed while he cried. They spread rumors of him being gay, of being a creep, of being a nerd. Eventually, Bad had no friends to sit with.

But, when Bad finally had the courage to speak up to an adult about it, the kids had all defended themselves, claiming, “It was just a joke! He’s being too sensitive!”

The teachers believed the other children. After all, these children were so polite and kind in class, how could they ever be bullying another? Surely Bad had misunderstood, but now that the misunderstanding was fixed, it would be okay.

A new name was added. Snitch.

Bad didn’t speak up again.

—— 

_“Bad, why do you always sit and listen to people ramble? Doesn’t it get boring after a while?”_

_Another sigh, another breath._

_Even quieter._

_“Everyone wants to be heard.”_

——

It was in middle school when he was introduced to video games. 

Of course, he had known about the internet and computers for years, but he had never known about multiplayer video games until he heard another boy talking about a game that he loved. He called it World Of Warcraft, and the way he described it was as if it was better than anything the young boy had ever done before, and Bad was hooked. 

The game was expensive, though, and his parents didn’t allow him to have it. He was sucked into the world of YouTube instead, watching more and more videos of other people playing the game he so wanted to own for himself. He became fully engulfed in the lives of youtubers, constantly talking about his favorite videos and creators to his parents, blabbering on and on about his favorite video games.

He did this constantly, his parents being the only outlet to which he could express this joy to, until one day, “Honey, you know we don’t know what you’re talking about, right?”

Bad’s mouth when dry, throat squeezing as he stuttered, “W-What?” 

“Sweetheart, this is all you talk about.” His mother smoothed back his hair. “It’s not very interesting to us at all. I haven’t even been listening for the past couple of minutes. Is it okay if we talk about something else?”

Bad just stared at his parents, processing the new information as his heart seemed to break.

He slapped a smile on, something he had learned how to do while being bullied, and replied, “Sure! Sorry for talking so much!” 

In his brain, he was taking the things he enjoyed and stuffing them into a box with the label “DO NOT OPEN UNLESS ALONE” and shoving it into the back of his head.

——

_“Bad… why do you hate swearing so much?”_

_Finally, a question he could answer easily. The answer poured from his lips as it always had, rehearsed, easy, and yet entirely untrue._

_“To keep my videos PG!”_

——

The bullying didn’t stop, and once he had stopped trying to put up a fight, it just got worse. 

Teachers always claim that people bully only to get a rise out of another person, and will stop when you stop reacting , but as any bullied kid knows, it’ll continue whether the victim reacts or not.

They were in middle school, eighth grade, and the kids were using their believed new maturity by swearing constantly. They created insults, copied their parents, and used their sharp tongues for the pain of others. 

Bad had insults scribbled on his locker, on his backpack, his pencil pouch, his homework, his everything. He couldn’t walk through the hallway without hearing someone swear at him. He couldn’t sit in class without balls of paper being thrown at him, notes, saying things such as “ugly fag” and “queer ass bitch”. 

He didn’t understand how simple words had such power over him and his emotions. He didn’t understand how these kids he had known for years could suddenly snap and cut at his heart with words and notes. He couldn’t understand why a few words could cause him to cry. 

He removed those words from his vocabulary.

——

_“Bad? Why are you always so nice?”_

_There was no pause. No hesitation. No sigh, or breath, or laughter._

_There was nothing but silence._

——

Bad grew up like any other child, in any other public school, with any other life. He went to college, got a dog, and even followed his dreams of becoming a youtuber and playing his favorite video games. 

He could remember his younger years. All since kindergarten, to his sophomore year of highschool, where the school became too big for constant targeted bullying. He remembers the stabs he felt in his heart when people whispered behind his back, when they swore at him, when they laughed at him and called him sensitive for not appreciating the joke.

He remembers telling his mother he loved her and hearing no response. He remembers his father coming in late at night on a Friday, only to leave again Sunday morning. He remembers the way he shoved all his interests down into his brain, never mentioning or speaking of them. He remembers the way that his dog was his best friend. He remembers how he felt when she died.

He remembers how no one asked how he was.

He remembers when he first met his friends in college. He remembers when he first began streaming. He remembers his promise to himself to never let another person feel the same way he did from his words or lack thereof. He remembers how he always tells people he loves them, even when angry. He remembers how he swore off swear words, especially when referring to other people. He remembers when he started being the nicest version of himself that he could be. He remembers these things when he’s thanked for who he is. He remembers when his fans thank him for helping them through rough times.

He remembers when asked about why he does what he does.

He remembers that his past did not make him kind.

He remembers that his past made him scared, anxious, and shy.

He remembers that _he_ made himself kind.

——

_“I choose, everyday, to be kind, because I don’t want anyone else to go through what I have. I choose to be kind because the world is full of people who want to tear each other down, and I want to help people relax, even if only for a moment. If only one person in the world is made happier because of my presence in the world, then my life will be worth every second. Even if that one person is me.”_


End file.
